


libet's delay

by gabriphales



Series: gomens drabble hell [116]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Internal Monologue, Introspection, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Scene: Garden of Eden (Good Omens), Snake Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:22:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27646118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gabriphales/pseuds/gabriphales
Summary: libet's delay: the period of time between touching, and the brain processing being touched
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: gomens drabble hell [116]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1664713
Kudos: 12





	libet's delay

**Author's Note:**

> still listening to caretaker as u can prolly tell from the title i love ambient noise and snake crowley

“you're quite a new feature, aren't you?” aziraphale asks, stroking the smooth scales up crowley’s body length. his fingers are soft, crowley aches where his touching lingers, and then fades away. like a childhood memory he can't quite cling onto, he bites with his fangs when aziraphale pulls back. faking a vicious withdrawal, yet still, yearning for more, for more, a golden, lighting dawn _more._

“a sweet, delicate thing.” aziraphale notes, distracted by crowley’s soft underbelly, enticing him into rolling on his side and exposing his delicate spots. “you're gentle, kind. allowing me the pleasure of petting you like this.” well, crowley would consider the pleasure his, but he’ll accept what aziraphale is offering. he nudges up into the warmth of his palm, seeking delicacy, lapping with his faint, thin tongue. he licks over the undersides of aziraphale’s knuckles, lost between the joints of his fingers. and he _bites._ just a barely there nip of his teeth, scraping flesh like a test, a guarantee he's more than meets the eye. aziraphale draws back, taut and wary, scowling softly.

“oh,” he frowns. “you naughty snake!” there's pep to his pout, a spike of errant energy, and crowley loves him, he loves him, he's terribly in love with his perpetual undoing. aziraphale’s fingers are at his stomach, tracing the length of him. he touches like crowley is something worth protecting, something worth caring about. and he never gets that in hell - from what he remembers, he never got it in heaven, either. the libet’s delay is unbearable. crowley aches to be touched, to _experience_ being touched. it crawls up in the deep tract of his body, settles beside venom in his fangs, and sinks into aziraphale’s flesh when he bites him once more. he only wants to keep him there. he only wants to ensure aziraphale will stay by his side.

“clingy,” aziraphale notes again, patting at his nose, the sensitive nerves there soothing crowley into a flat-bellied submission. “i’m quite fond of you, little creature.”

and though crowley is bemoaned to admit it, he’d say the same for aziraphale. he’s afraid he always will.


End file.
